Caren Starry White

Or why my left eye is strong than the right, or more dissertation excepts.

Microscopes

When I was little, I used to believe that I could see air.
Tiny specks of sometimes blue and other times green
but mostly clear in front of my eyes.
I never told anyone till now-wanted to keep the secret, to be special
I squinted to see life, to see O2  mix with CO2
right before my eyes, something amazing.

I believed I could see air.
One of these days, I said,they will see what I can do.
But as years went on, I could see them less and less.
Slipped away from my vision,
my aging eyes lack precision or perhaps I just forgot to look for it anymore.

Now when I squint some twenty-years later,
I call them… sun spots.
From not listening to my mother-
I can’t help but stare at the sun from time to time.
The little blue and sometimes green
but mostly clear circles dot my retina and transmit into my skull.
My optic nerve used to lie to me all the time.
Yes, that swimming pool is an ocean
and that old broken bottle a potion
and yes, those dots are oxygen.
But now it translates… sunspots.
My optic nerve rarely ever lies to me anymore
or maybe I never ask it to.

I used to believe I could see air.
Not just a single molecule, no-
but the particles within it too.
Like that squiggly bit, a ribosome
that circle bit, a nucleus-words I’d only ever seen on charts and graphs
but I was convinced all the same that someday
I would be able to clearly see someone’s DNA.
Each nucleic acid twisted together-their genetic information.
Be able to tell the color of their eyes before looking at their face
A scientific mystery with eyes like a microscope
and when I looked at a boy, I’d be able to read his double helix
and prevent heartbreak before we even said hello.
Not that I’d have time for boys when I can see air.
No-that’s just the beginning.

I’ll spend my time at NASA
and my dad will be so proud when they send me to the moon
to stare at Mars with my special eyes.
She’ll know the answer they’ll say
and they’ll cheer when I land because I’m the girl that can see molecules.

But they’ve already sent Curiosity to Mars- have extra-terrestrial terrain cars.
And me-I’m a writer with a left eye that’s slightly stronger than then right
but not strong enough to see nuclei at night.
Maybe it’s because I don’t practice anymore.

Or why stream of conscious is fun

In The Lonely Londoner’s by Samuel Selvon, there is a great stream of consciousness bit about summertime in London. This is my response to it. Click Summertime to hear the spoken version.

***

It’s June but you wouldn’t know it without a calendar to tell you the rain hasn’t let up spare for the week in May that I spent drunk in Green Park everyone keeps telling me that London summers are amazing but I’m still waiting for the rain to stop I think I’ll be waiting for centuries perhaps the sun only comes out when the queen wants it to but I will learn to breathe in water at least the trees are green in Hampstead and the bus stop is right outside my flat Lynmouth Road once Bryan and I got on the 149 to Shoreditch the windows were sweating too much water to see out the windows so I asked him to wipe his side clean so I could see the Gherkin in the distance down the high street but he told me that was people breath from too many people breathing in and out condensation gathers and runs down the windows peoples breath human oxygen converted to carbon dioxide I will learn to breathe in water but for now I wipe off the human condensation with my sweater since he won’t and watch Dalston out the window people enjoying their summers in umbrellas and rain boots they go to watch boats down at the Thames thousands of boats that already know how to gurgle and breathe underwater with ease they are jubilant these people walking the streets you can tell a true Londoner not by their accent or brand of rain boots but by looking for their gills I’m still waiting for mine to grow once I walked past James Smith & Son on New Oxford Street home of the London umbrella I couldn’t believe a shop only for umbrellas but now I understand it is never going to be summer and perhaps these people have been lying to me all along but I will learn to breathe in water to live in water to stop worrying and love the water I will get used to pulling up my sweater to wipe off people breath from bus windows once I watched a little girl draw a fish on the front window of the 205 she said he was at home in the rain and they got off at Regent’s Park to go to the zoo so young but she already knows about water her gills stronger than mine she doesn’t need an umbrella I raise my sleeve to erase the fish out of jealous but I will learn all the same until then I will learn not to buy cheap umbrellas from the Primark near Marble Arch or go there at all really too many people always breathing down your back and down your front and down your sides but they always double bag my stuff when its raining so I can’t complain even the checkout clerk swears the sun will come but I’m still waiting and I’ve forgotten how the sun looks like someone from high school that you can’t quite remember I’ve forgotten what the warmth of Texas feels like but I will learn to breathe in water yes I will learn.

Or a sneak peek of what I’ve been working on lately.

Over the past few months, I’ve been working on a collection titled “Whiskey & Cactus Wine: A Dedication to the West.” Most of this collection includes found poetry crafted from this book. I will skip the discussion on what I think of the guidebook because the poetry should hopefully speak for itself. Here are a few strictly found poems included in the collection.